


this is not as personal as it seems

by visro



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, band au, book!newt, but we're used to that, lots of fluff, minho has lots of tattoos just wanted to let you know, minor benho content at some point, nothing explicit but it's there, so newt has long hair yes yes, they look like their book versions btw, they're in a grunge band btw, they're smoking a lot (also weed), thomas is an annoying mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visro/pseuds/visro
Summary: Touring through the States, the aspiring grunge band 'SIC' takes every single chance to perform in front of an audience.Being so caught up in traveling from venue to venue, their lead singer and guitarist - Newt - almost overlooks one of their biggest fans.Showing up to every single one of their concerts, Thomas manages to discompose the band mates, almost making them lose their own beat.
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	1. the smell of rosemary and lemon

He couldn’t see. The bright lights took his vision away once more and all he could do was stare into nothingness.

He hated feeling this blind. Not being able to see the hundreds of faces in front of him made his heart race. Were they looking at him? Of course they were. Who else would they be looking at? He was a guy on a stage after all.

Sometimes he felt like a deer in headlights. A deer with a guitar in hand. In front of a microphone. Who chose to step in the headlights in the first place.

_Stupid fucking deer._

As he felt another drop of sweat drip down his forehead, he shot the cheering crowd one of his shitty grins, throwing his long blonde hair back. Some strands stuck to his forehead no matter what.

 _Should have put them in a bun_ , he thought to himself as he finished the guitar solo part of the song and left the rest to his best friend.

The young man right behind him took over, playing the drums like he never did anything else in his life. Which wasn’t even an understatement. He had been playing for as long as he could remember, could probably even play them blindfolded just perfectly.

Minho – said drummer – got up from his stool to lean forward to get closer to the microphone in front of him. Half standing, half crouching he let his raspy voice support Newt in the chorus part of the song while continuing to play the drums.

 _Fucking show-off,_ the blonde thought not being able to stop the smirk from creeping up on his face. No matter how much Minho stole the show right now: he definitely deserved it, Newt knew that.

As he turned his gaze away from his friend and back to the crowd he got blinded by the lights once more, blinking to regain his vision. Fuck, were those bloody spotlights bright. And hot.

Another drop of sweat traced his jawline, making its way to the ground as Newt shook his head to the rhythm of their final song. He cried out the last few lines and took a deep breath once the song was over.

Panting into the mic heavily, he shot the crowd an exhausted smirk, clutching onto his microphone stand like it was going to safe him from drowning.

The people in the crowd were absolutely losing it. Cheering and chanting their names, applauding and begging them to give an encore. This wasn’t a first, but it was always a pleasant surprise to the boys on stage.

Still holding onto his microphone, Newt looked over his shoulder. Both of his friends looked just as exhausted, sweaty and ready to leave this stage as he did, so he shot them a small _Let’s get outta here_ smile and turned his attention back to the people begging them for more.

“Thank you, guys! You were an amazing crowd, thank you!”, Newt spoke with a strained voice.

“But you really fucked us up, so we gotta go- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I know!”, he chuckled into the mic as the audience complained sadly.

He didn’t jolt a single bit as he suddenly felt a sweaty arm around his shoulder - Minho – and a warm, big hand between his shoulder blades - Alby. Their bassist and second-best songwriter.

Switching his gaze between them quickly, shooting each of his friends a small smile, all he could think of was _Fuck, we stink._

“Thank you guys, for this amazing evening! I hope we’ll see each other again!”, Alby spoke into the microphone, leaning closer to Newt.

“Yeah and remember: We’re fucking SIC and so are you!”, Minho burst out, grinning widely at the crowd. They answered him with loud _Whohoos!_ and _Ahs!,_ getting even more hysterical as he winked at them shooting them finger-guns.

“Get home safe, guys! Bye!”, the blond spoke into the microphone for the last time tonight and finally let his gripping hand go of the stand. Waving the audience goodbye, smiling infectiously, the three of them left the stage.

Newt unsuccessfully wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Muttering his discontent, he pulled his shirt up to his forehead, blotting dry his skin.

“Tonight was good. They seemed to love the new song.”, Alby spoke up, walking next to him. The oldest one grabbed a bottle of water off a shelf near the changing room, gulping down the lukewarm contents.

The temperature backstage was definitely more manageable. Way cooler than on stage, where they felt like they were boiled until tender. Still, way too hot and humid for Newts liking.

“We’re sick and so are you?”, Newt parroted the words of his friend, shooting him a puzzled look. “For real, dude?”

“Yeah, just popped into my head that second. Could say I’m a poet of sorts.”, Minho answered between snickers. The boy really knew how to work the crowd, even if Newt sometimes felt the painful urge to cringe to himself, after his friend let out another way to dramatic “ _We love you guys so much!”._

They didn’t love them, they didn’t even know them. They were just strangers performing in front of strangers, about 150 of those.

Strangers who paid 18 bucks for their ticket, supporting their music on streaming platforms and basically assuring their livelihood.

Maybe they _did_ love them.

Alby swung open the door to their changing room where they stored some of their clothes in old gym bags.

The room was lit by dim lightning and just as heated up as the entirety of this venue. At least the manager of the club provided them with water. _Disgustingly warm water, but water_ , Newt thought as he emptied the entire bottle in one go.

“We smell like shit.”, Minho pointed out with a grin, grabbing the deodorant from the dressing table. After almost making himself disappear in a thick cloud of AXE body spay, he tossed the black can over to Newt, who caught it gracefully with one hand.

“Thanks. Alby can you hand me a new shirt please, doesn’t matter the colour.”, Newt asked in no general direction. After taking his turn of a French shower, the blond put the deodorant down on the vanity table and took off his shirt that was stuck to his upper body due to the sweat, making it appear skin-tight.

Alby was already crouched over one of their bags, rummaging through them as the damp shirt landed on his head, covering his vision.

“Ew! I don’t want your fucking nasty shirt, dude!”, he exclaimed, dramatically snatching the piece of clothing from his head and stuffing it into one of the plastic bags he pulled out of the gym bag. They had to keep their used clothes somewhere.

Both Newt and Minho couldn’t stop their snickering, earning yet another grumpy look over the shoulder from Alby. The guitarist got up and turned to them completely.

“The two of you are such a pain in the arse sometimes.”, he complained in a snarky manner, tossing his childhood friend the new, clean and not smelly at all shirt.

“You know you love us. At least that’s what you said last time you were high, so shut up, big boy.”, Minho said with a witty grin on his face, already making his way back to the door.

“Yup, confirmed!”, Newt burst out, while spraying his neck with Alby’s expensive perfume that he got from one of his exes. Following Minho’s example Newt left the cramped room, smelling like bergamot and black pepper.

The three boys made their way back to the lounge area of the club, occasionally smiling and waving to the guest noticing them. They couldn’t even make it all the way to the bar before a cluster of 10 to 15 people gathered around them, circling them like they were their prey.

Some of them were asking for a picture, others for an autograph. And some others just wanted to thank them for the good performance.

The friends could only answer them with vague smiles until Minho raised his tattoo-covered arms above his head, waving in a sweeping gesture.

“Hey, guys! Let’s take this to the bar, okay?”, he shouted to make sure everyone could hear him through all this noise. Grinning from ear to ear the drummer pushed himself through the outer ring of the predators.

He loved this. The attention, the autographs, the selfies. Occasionally getting phone numbers scribbled down on tiny scraps of paper handed to him. Minho was living for moments like this, enjoying every second and interaction and keeping all of the notes in his wallet _in case he ever needs any of them._ Whatever that meant.

Newt and Alby could very well live without all of that. Alby basically just wanted to make music. Not more, not less. Newt just needed a safe space to publish his melodramatic lyrics that started out as profound poems he wrote in his room at 2 am, smoking.

He would have been okay with just continuing to record their songs in their homemade studio - Albys kitchen – and upload them to their YouTube channel, Soundcloud and Spotify. Keeping his deepest thoughts to himself and in their songs, while also sharing them with the world, not having to be afraid of ever having to look anyone that listens to their songs in the eye.

But here he was, thanks to Minho who wanted to increase their reach. Signing phone cases and putting on a slightly uneasy smile for a selfie with a guy named Will.

He was nice, Newt had to admit that. Asking him if he’s allowed to hug him, telling him it’s not a big deal if he’s not in the mood for a picture. He was okay, that’s for sure and Newt actually put an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders as he leaned in for the picture.

Will thanked him very politely, for the fifth time in under two minutes, and Newt already noticed the next fan stepping into his vision just a second after William – he told him his full name, _lovely_ – left.

“Hi, I-“, the person in front of him started out nervously.

“Soma, right?”, Newt shot them a charming smile, cutting them off mid-sentence. He already knew their name because he overheard them introduce themselves to Minho and Alby just a few minutes ago.

The bewildered look on their face made Newt grin even wider.

“How’d you know?”, their voice sounded even more nervous now. The confusion was clearly visible in their facial expression.

“I’m psychic.”, the blond answered tonelessly, emphasizing his statement with a shrug.

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. Felt your _vibes_ and all, they gave me very much... Soma.”

“...You’re just fucking with me, right?”

“Yup.”, Newt couldn’t hide his shitty grin any longer. He didn’t want to make this person feel self-conscious but he couldn’t deny that he actually had fun right now. He felt good and seeing that there was only one more guy left right behind Soma made him feel even better.

He looked back at them, putting on an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I just overheard you introduce yourself.”, Newt explained while playfully nudging them in the shoulder, “Wanna take a picture?”

Soma nodded, pulling their phone out of the pocket of their orange skirt. As they got closer to Newt, he noticed their shaking hands and anxious breathing. They were _nervous._

“Hey Soma, calm down, I’m just _some_ guy.”, Newt whispered and sent a reassuring smile their way.

“You want me to do that?”, he nodded to the phone in their hand, already reaching out for it. He knew what they felt like. Sweaty, shaky hands, feeling like someone climbed inside of your body, trying to choke you from within.

The same way he felt whenever he had to step onto the stage after they took a weekend off concerts and gigs. He sometimes couldn’t even breath and felt like he was trapped underneath a thick layer of ice with heavy weights on his feet, pulling him to the bottom of the ocean. Alby usually sensed his anxiety, took both his hands and lead the younger boy to a silent corner, helping him breath again.

It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. Sometimes he wondered if golden boy Minho ever felt the same. Probably not. Newt really admired him. Gladly he only told him that once when he was baked out of his mind.

Noticing the redhead’s nod, Newt took the phone from them, quickly shot the camera a warm smile and took the picture. Three at that.

“Here. I hope they turned out,” the blond said while handing back the phone to Soma.

“I hope you had a nice evening!”, he continued with a charming smile, patting the smaller person on the shoulder.

“Yeah, thank you!”, they answered less nervous than before. They even managed to hold up the eye contact with Newt for more than one millisecond.

Newt couldn’t even tell the colour of their eyes.

With that and a murmured “Goodbye!” they turned away, quickly walking to a group of people who seemed to have been waiting for them. Some of their friends clapped their back and spoke to them in an excited, cheerful tone.

 _Probably encouraged them to come up to us in the first place,_ Newt thought to himself right as a pair of big brown eyes blocked his view from the now leaving group.

He raised both his eyebrows as he looked the stranger right in front of him up and down.

_Cute._

The red flannel shirt the brunet had tied around his waist looked pretty worn out and his cuffed light blue jeans absolutely didn’t match the rest of his outfit.

His bambi eyes appeared to sparkle even in the dim light of the lounge and the infectious smile of his bewitched the singer.

_Real cute._

“Can I help you out at all?”, Newt spoke up in a hoarse voice, wishing it was much deeper than that.

The stranger quickly nodded and nervously ran his hand through his brown and already messy hair.

“Ye- Yeah, sorry.”, he answered thinly, running his hand through his hair once again.

“Sorry, I’m just so-“

“Nervous?”, Newt interrupted him with a small grin on his face.

“Yeah, pretty much, yeah.”, the nervous boy stuttered. He turned his gaze away from Newt’s face with an awkward chuckle, but quickly looked him back in the eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright, dude. I’m just some guy.”, Newt repeated the sentence he already told the redhead just a few seconds ago. It’s always the same.

Sometimes the people they meet get really nervous around them. That’s normal.

 _Just tell them you’re no different from them and they’ll eventually calm down._ , Alby had told them after the first time they ever encountered a “fan” of theirs that wouldn’t stop shaking.

 _Yeah, just like the fact that spiders are more afraid of you than you are of them!,_ Minho had exclaimed just then, hunching over the badly scratched coffee table in their changing room. It was one of his first times that a girl in the crowd handed him her phone number and since then he always took his time to scribble the name of the venue and the city they performed in on the back of the notes. _If he just was this particular about other things._

Without even noticing, Newt had struck his arms out and laid his hands on the strangers shoulders to calm him down. He felt the brunet’s body tense up under his grip and immediately let go again.

“Whoa, sorry for invading your personal space.”, the blond quickly apologized with an excusing smile.

“No, no! It’s alright really! I’m- oh my god, I’m just so excited to finally... _talk_ to you! I mean, I've been to so many of your concerts and never felt brave enough to actually stay longer to meet you and I-“, the stranger stumbled through his speech. He couldn’t look at Newt as he spoke.

Confusion flooded Newts system. _I’ve been to so many of your concerts._ He’s been to their concerts more than once? This is how good they were?

Newt never doubted that their music was good, it just didn’t make sense to him that you wanted to see them live multiple times. _It’s always the same, isn’t it?_ Same songs, same voice, same dudes on the stage. Listening to the songs in the comfort of your home was way better than being stuck together in a badly lit room with about 100 strangers.

But maybe this guy liked that. Paying way too much for overpriced drinks, queuing for half an hour in the cold and then feeling the sweaty bodies of the people next to you stuck to your own. Maybe that was exactly his thing.

“You’ve been to more than one?”, Newt finally asked, shooting the cute stranger a puzzled look and folding his well-toned arms in front of his chest.

He immediately noticed how the guys look trailed off to his biceps. _Oh._

Time to fuck with this dude then.

An evil grin crept up Newts face as he threw his hair back and flexed his muscles even more.

“I- uh... Yeah, I've um-“, the brunet continued to stutter. Finally, a few seconds later he took his eyes off of Newts arms and managed to form a full sentence.

“I’ve been to your last show in Orlando and that one before in Fort Myers! I also saw you in Charlotte, oh my god that performance was so amazing!”, those sparkling eyes were looking right into Newt’s once again.

This literal stranger really travelled through the entire state for them. Just to see them on the stage for 2 hours. _Holy shit._

“You really drove from Orlando to Atlanta just for _this_ concert?”, Newt shot him another puzzled look, unfolding his arms. The taller boy looked over to his left where his friends stood just a minute ago, but now he couldn’t spot them anymore. Did they really just leave him alone with this awkward guy that seemed to have followed them around for over a month now, that couldn’t even form a single sentence without using the word _Uh_ at least twice? _Lovely._

Turning his gaze back to the person in front of him he couldn’t stop but start to chuckle. This entire situation was way to ridiculous. Mostly awkward, but also ridiculous.

“That’s what I call dedication.”, the blond burst out, “But also fucking stupid.”

Orlando to Atlanta. As far as Newt remembered that was an 6 hour drive. Put Minho in the driver’s seat and you can reduce that by another hour.

“What no, I-...I mean yeah. But it’s always worth it, because I just love you and your music so much and-“

“You love me?”

“Wh- No! Yeah, no I- oh god...”, the brunet mumbled in shock, quickly hiding his face behind his hands. It could have been pitch black in the room and Newt still would have noticed the flaming red cheeks of the stranger.

The blond let out a sigh and placed one hand on the other boys shoulder again. He never wanted a conversation to end just as badly as this one.

“Dude, hey. Chill, okay? What’s your name?”, Newt spoke up in a much softer voice than before. Maybe he could calm this boy down, giving him enough willpower to say two coherent sentences in a row, not making an absolute fool of himself. _Maybe._

Looking through the spaces between his fingers, the shorter boy gave him a desperate look. At least this entire situation was just as awkward for him as it was for Newt.

“Thomas.”, he mumbled while he let go of his face. His look travelled up and down Newt’s figure, always stopping right before his honey brown eyes met the singer’s.

 _Thomas._ That name absolutely didn’t fit this guy.

No Thomas wore colourful, mismatched socks, had ruffled hair and eyes that warm.

No Thomas would constantly fiddle with the fabric of the flannel wrapped around his waist, have one open shoelace and smell like rosemary and lemon.

Thomases wore suits, went to important business meetings, were confident and charming and always smelled like dark coffee and the leather seats of their expensive cars.

This guy wasn’t a _Thomas._ Absolutely not.

 _Tommy._ Tommy was much more fitting.

“Okay, _Thomas_.”, Newt continued, giving him a soft smile, “Calm down. Let’s just take a picture or whatever you want and call it a day. Evening. Whatever.”

The chuckle that escaped his mouth made Thomas smile a little less awkward and he answered with a nod.

Taking a deep breath the brunet found his voice again.

“Thanks, Newt.”

The way Tommy said his name was so much softer than all of the things that came out of his mouth before. Newt wasn’t even sure if he actually heard him say his name or if he just imagined it. In no way in the world someone as embarrassing and nervous as him could simply say his name and make it sound like a poem.

Now it was Newt’s turn to be at a loss for words. All he could do was stare at Thomas every move, waiting for him to finally pull whatever he’s searching for out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“Fuck”, he mumbled a little distressed as he frisked the front pockets of his trousers.

“You good?”, the blond shot him a confused look, raising one of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I just... I must have lost my- oh no wait, it’s fine. I gave it to Brenda before the show so she could keep it safe,” Thomas chuckled nervously.

 _It?_ His phone, clearly.

 _Brenda?_ His girlfriend? Friend? Sister?

“You don’t wanna know how many times I’ve already lost it, it’s quite embarrassing.”

Yeah, that’s right. Newt _didn’t_ want to know. All he wanted was to leave this fuggy room to go out and smoke. But since this guy just couldn't stop digging a hole for himself, he was trapped in here.

“So, what do we do then, _Thomas_?”, Newt asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

Thomas just looked at him. This guy wasted his time, made everyone in the radius of 3 miles absolutely uncomfortable and had the audacity to just... _look at him?_

A shy smile crept up on his face as he shrugged.

“Well, I’m gonna be at your next concert in Nashville anyway, so... I’m just gonna make sure to have my phone with me then!”, Thomas said, supporting his explanation with an enthusiastic nod.

“Great.”, Newt answered curtly and ran his hand through his hair, tying it back in a low ponytail. A few rebellious strands of hair quickly escaped the hairdo and framed Newts square face.

“I can’t wait to see you again then, Thomas.”, Newt lied with a charming smile Minho and him trained so well. He reached out for Thomas again and patted him on the shoulder. The grey shirt the Brunette was wearing slipped to the side the slightest bit and just for the fragment of a second, Newts fingers touched Thomas skin.

 _Touch his face.,_ the thought struck Newts brain like a lightning bolt, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Like the flicker of a broken lamp the thought lit up Newts brain for one moment and left him standing in the dark the next one.

Without even thinking about it, the blond pulled his hand back in a jerk and pushed past the person in front of him.

 _What the fuck,_ Newt thought. He didn’t even know this guy. All he knew was that he was a nervous mess that’d probably trip over his own feet on the way out, had a bunch of freckles, too many to count, and eyes so warm and charming, not even his little sister could compete.

Even though he already put a few feet of distance between their bodies, Newt still had the weird feeling of being able to sense Thomas. He knew he was there, still standing in the exact same place, looking after him with a startled look. He could still feel the warmth of Thomas skin under the tips of his fingers, spreading through his hand, his arm, his entire body. He knew Tommy was in the room. And he knew that be wanted to touch him again.

The more he thought about it, the more scatterbrained he got. He needed some fresh air, a cigarette and Minho talking absolute bullshit to just forget about the past 5 minutes.

As the cold evening air and a few droplets of rain hit his face he realised he didn’t even say Goodbye. And that he should have brought a jacket.

It didn’t take Newt long to find his bandmates. Minho was probably looking out for his friend, since he waved and called Newt’s name multiple times to show him where they were. Both of them were leaning against the brick wall of the building, taking shelter from the rain under the thin part of the roof that jut out from the construction.

“It’s raining,” Newt stated as he stopped next to Alby, wrapping his arms around his own upper body. The cold usually didn’t bother him, but the rain combined with the bleak wind really gave him the rest.

“You don’t say, genius,” Minho said, rolling his eyes and greeting his friend by kicking his ankle with his foot.

“Fuck you and thanks.”, the blond answered curtly, reaching out and snatching the already lit and half smoked cigarette from Minho’s mouth. As he took a drag from the cigarette, he ignored his friends swearing and dodged a smack on the head.

“Hotel’s a 20-minute drive from here.”, Alby said calmly as he checked the route on his phone. The older one apparently hadn’t paid any kind of attention to the friends’ little fight.

“Newt, we’re on Double-Room-Duty tonight,” he casually continued and sent a screenshot of the route and the name of the hotel in their group chat.

The blond shot Minho’s little celebration dance and occasional _Whoop Whoops_ a mildly annoyed look and let his eyes trail off to the other side of the road.

The streetlights illuminated the passengers that made their way through the night. Some more rushed than others, some soaked from the rain others seeking sanctuary from the merciless water falling from above in some of the dimly lit bars.

He spotted people with colourful hair, face and neck tattoos and so many piercings they would definitely get them in trouble in an airport control. Next a tall man dressed up in a black expensive looking suit, carrying around his briefcase as if he were to hand over the Declaration of Independence. A short girl with a black hair and bangs, wearing a leather miniskirt talking to someone on the phone. Right next to her, a taller guy. Grey shirt, blue jeans, Converse Sneakers, untied shoelaces.

Newt felt his heart stop. Their eyes locked and as Thomas shyly started waving in his direction and smiled awkwardly, the blond instinctively smiled back.

He watched the girl pull on the brunet’s flannel shirt and started dragging him into the opposite direction as everyone else, speed walking to a destination unknown to the singer.

The second Thomas face turned away from Newts he was convinced the smell of rosemary and lemon reached his nostrils.


	2. memories of our future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you for real?” Newt’s bafflement must have been written all over his face, since Thomas only answered his question with a short laugh.
> 
> A laugh that immediately made Newt smile in return. That made all of his negative feelings get caught up in a swirl, swallowing them and leaving him with a smooth sea afterwards. He wanted to hear it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's lots of swearing in this one, just so you know.
> 
> enjoy! <3

He couldn’t hear. When he looked up at Minho, who was currently resting his hand on his knee after slapping it multiple times to wake him up, he couldn’t understand a single word his friend was saying.

His lips were opening and closing, a big grin lighting up his eyes but even though Newt concentrated on trying to speech-read, he couldn’t make out what Minho was trying to tell him.

The blond took his headphones out.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night, Buttercup?”, the drummer said with that mischievous grin still plastered on his face. He finally let go of Newt’s knee and turned back around to face the road.

“Not with Alby snoring like a fucking bear.”, Newt answered dryly, his voice still a little rougher and deeper than usual, because he just woke up. The blond stretched his arms above his head, his hands hitting the metal roof of the van they were sitting in.

They hit the road at 8 am. 10 past 8 am to be exact, meaning they had to get up at 7. At least Newt and Alby got up at 7, packing all their clothes and other belongings in their trusty old gym back. Newt just quickly stuffed his phone, headphones and notebook into his battered backpack, leaving a tangled and crinkled mess for him to unpack later.

Minho on the other hand didn’t show up until 5 minutes before their departure. With a bedhead like no other, he quickly tossed his leather backpack into the trunk of their van, telling them that he forgot his phone on the nightstand and had to go get it.

15 minutes and a cigarette later, the drummer and his phone finally found their way into the car and Minho even had the audacity to call shotgun.

They still had a 2-hour drive in front of them. With all the construction sites and occasional traffic jams in their way, they might even be trapped in the van for longer than that. _Much longer_.

Alby and his need for punctuality annoyed not only Minho – who barely arrived on time or 5 minutes too late – but also Newt. The singer was punctual, no doubt about it, but Alby took it too far sometimes.

Occasionally they arrived at the venues _hours_ before they were even allowed to go inside, because another band or performer were still packing up their equipment. They spent more time in the van driving or _waiting_ in front of venues than on stage.

They have never _ever_ been to late though. Thanks to Alby.

“We’re gonna get into a traffic jam anyway.”, the driver said dryly, not taking his eyes of the road. A small smile curled up his lips as he continued speaking in a much softer voice.

“So, you have another 2 to 3 hours to get some more sleep, lazybones.” Alby and Newt’s eyes met in the rear-view mirror. The blond couldn’t see the older boys lips, but he could tell that he was smiling. The way his eyes sparkled and the laughter lines around his lids creased more. He imagined one of Alby’s reassuring smiles, one that made you feel safe and appreciated. His best friend was smiling, so he smiled too.

Newt answered Alby with a short nod and a silent _Hm._ As he put his headphones in, a wave of muted engine noises washed over him and after choosing a new song to listen to on repeat, he closed his eyes, leaning his head back.

“Hey, watch your step!”

Newt was waving at one of his classmates who passed by the wooden fence of their garden on their bike. He quickly turned his head to the source of the voice with a slightly alarmed look.

Big brown eyes were looking up at him. The little girl flipped her long platinum blonde hair that was braided in a fishtail-style over her shoulder and pointed at his feet.

“Huh?”, the taller boy responded with a confused facial expression as his look trailed down his legs to his bare feet. Newt wiggled his toes around in the soil he was standing in. Right next to his feet, big bushes of parsley, oregano and thyme made their way through the heavy soil and let the sun shine onto their green leaves.

“Oops, sorry.”, Newt apologized with a small smile on his face. He looked back at his little sister who was now shaking her head with a disappointed look on her face that was clearly fake.

Just a split second later a wide smile curled up her lips. The big black Labrador squeezed his body through the backdoor, that led into the kitchen, as Newt and Sonya’s mother opened it to poke her head out. A sweet smile adorned her young face that made her brown eyes sparkle. Her long, blonde hair blew in the warm summer breeze.

“Can you two little ducklings get me some rosemary and oregano for dinner?”, she said in a soft voice. Not a command, a question. Newt knew if Sonya or he said no because they wanted to play some more, she wouldn’t have been mad. Not a single bit.

“First one to make it here, gets an entire lemonade all for themselves!”, another voice reached their ears from the kitchen. Their dad – a tall man that _always_ had a scruff – placed his head on the woman’s, wrapping his arms around her waist as he looked at the siblings with a broad grin.

When Newt still was a little younger – and smaller – he always thought his dad absolutely had to hit his head on each and every doorframe, because of how tall he thought he was. Now that he was ten and a little taller himself, he knew that his dad’s head definitely survived most doorframes unscathed. At least more often than not.

For a split second the siblings exchanged knowing looks. They both wanted that lemonade. And they wanted it badly.

Sonya made the first move to the vegetable patch, but since Newt was already very much _in_ it, he just needed to make a dash for the rosemary to his left. He rashly tore out a bundle of the light green herbs that always reminded him of the fir needles of the Christmas tree Sonya and he decorated every year in their living room.

With a few spiky shrubberies of rosemary in his hand, Newt got up from the crouching position he was in and sprinted towards the back door. Followed by Bark – their dog – he came to an abrupt stop at the backdoor – almost falling over – and held the bundle up like a trophy.

“Ha! I won!”, he burst out, gasping for air as he handed his giggling mom the herbs.

“You sure did, little birdie.”, his mother answered with that same sweet smile on her face. She took the rosemary from Newt and reached out for the oregano Sonya handed her in the same moment.

“Thank you, Sonny. Now both of you, wash your feet and hands and help Dad set the table. Dinner will be done in ten.”, their mom said, while turning around and receiving a small peck on the cheek from their dad, who was just now letting go of her.

Newt already put one foot on the first step of the small and wooden stairs, but as he noticed no movement to his right, he stopped and looked at his little sister.

Sonya looked down to her feet with a sad expression painted on her face. Newt hated seeing her like that. Like the sunshine she usually was, she always had a wide smile on her face that made Newt feel so warm inside. He really loved her, but disliked anyone and anything that made her sad. But now he was the one responsible for the gloomy look on her face.

“Hey, Sonny. I’m like so much bigger than you, of course I’m faster.”, he whispered in a reassuring tone. Newt leaned down to her and put both of his hands on her shoulders, softly stroking them with his dirty thumbs. He put on a sweet smile and continued to talk in a whisper.

“It’s actually quite unfair. You’ll get a head start next time, okay?”, the blond boy raised his eyebrows, not taking his eyes of his little sister that now nodded and looked in his eyes.

In an even lower voice he kept on talking as a sweet smile curled up his lips.

“And I don’t care that I won, I’m gonna share my lemonade with you, anyway.”

A broad grin lit up her face and Newt knew that the world was okay again.

He woke up with a nasty, wet feeling in his left ear and as he turned his face to where the car window should be, his tired gaze was returned by an evil grin.

Minho stood outside the car and couldn’t stop his shitty snickering.

“Rise and Shine, you Sleeping Ugly. Make yourself useful and help me carry the drums inside.”, the boy said. As he turned around to get to the trunk of the car, Newt blinked a few times and couldn’t take his eyes of the place Minho stood just a few moments ago.

For the span of two seconds he didn’t know where they were, what day or how late it was, why he was in a car and why _the fuck_ the insides of his ear were wet.

But then he remembered.

They were driving to their next concert in Nashville that was about to start in about 4 hours. It was Thursday afternoon, 10 past 2 pm and his ear was wet because Minho pulled a wet willy on him.

 _So fucking grown up,_ Newt thought as he put his hand over his ear to rub it dry. With the still disgusted but also very tired look on his face he bent down to pick up his headphones that must have fallen down at some point.

“You wanna help or what?”, the drummer asked in a harsh but still amused voice as he walked past the van with a big, heavy looking cardboard box in his hands. His well-trained arms could lift the box easily, no matter how massy the contents.

“Shut your fucking mouth, asshat.”, Newt groaned. He grabbed whatever item was the closest to him – an almost empty, plastic water bottle – and threw it after the black-haired boy. Minho dodged the missile elegantly while chuckling in an evil manner and making his way through the back door of the venue.

It was the second day in a row that Newt dreamt about that summer day in their garden. Of course it was a pleasant memory and he loved thinking back to those carefree couple of weeks when both him and his little sister were on summer break, but he didn’t understand why his subconscious mind dug up that exact memory.

He knew his brain was filled with a wild bunch of childhood memories way more exciting and imprinting than that one. Like for example the time he broke his leg in P.E. class, because Nick pushed him off the mat trolley on accident (at least he said so). Or his 14th birthday when his dad got him his first electrical guitar and his mum spent the rest of the day with him in his room, teaching him some chords and eating homemade lemon cake. Why chose one of the most ordinary and unspectacular memories over one of the ones that actually meant something to him?

 _Maybe because I miss Sonya and Mom,_ Newt thought as he let out a big yawn, while lifting up one of the heavy boxes. _Or because the 6 th anniversary of Barks death just happened a few weeks ago._

Newt shook his head. Not only to cast off the thoughts of the dream and his dead dog, but also to keep himself awake. It was just a stupid dream after all, why did he care so much? Why did the thought of their vegetable patch and the herbs that grew there constantly occupy his mind? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the tasty lemon cake his mother used to bake for his birthday and why the hell was is already so unbelievably stuffy in this lounge?

As he entered the venue through the same door Minho did just a couple of seconds ago, a thick cloud of cigarette fog and the smell of cheap booze hit his face.

Newt felt his eyes tear up and his nose starting to run. The room was lit in dim red light, making it hard to see, and since every single window was either covered in a thick, brown layer of dirt or ponderous black curtains, one could only guess it was midnight. Newt was certain that the room hadn’t seen much natural sunlight in the past couple of months.

He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to perform in here tonight and on Saturday. Of course a venue is a venue, as Minho likes to say, but _damn_ even breathing was hard in here. Not to mention gasping for air while singing.

But he’d lie if he said that he wasn’t used to that. They couldn’t afford to play at big, fancy bars and clubs that were filled with more than 200 guests who were ready to pay for more than 25 bucks per ticket. It was even hard for them to sell out a place that could only fit about 150 people and they clearly didn’t manage that for todays show.

They barely sold 70 tickets. Sure, it’s a pretty unknown bar, that might or might not have a bad reputation in the neighbourhood for drug dealing business but still: that really wasn’t a lot. Taking into consideration how much of that money already got spent for gas money, the venue, the hotel rooms and everything else they needed to survive, Newt knew they weren’t going to get much out of this gig.

 _At least we can perform,_ Alby’s wise words rang in his ears as he put down the box a little too rash, making the crash cymbals inside jangle. The blond let his gaze wander over the already placed boxes near the stage, counting them silently.

 _Just six more_ , he observed as he already turned around to make his way back to their van, ignoring the disgusting smell inside and thinking about potatoes with rosemary and lemonade instead.

Stale air that reeked of sweat, burps and cigarettes doesn’t get much easier to breath when someone pushes their elbow into your ribs. The second that someone also smells like alcohol and tacky after-shave you should hold your breath and gladly accept your cause of death to be suffocation.

Too bad Newt’s survival instinct couldn’t be suppressed as much as he wanted to right now and so he took another painful deep breath.

Not many people stayed after the show, since there weren’t a lot in the bar to begin with. Newt still thought the concert was alright. Not good or something he would have paid money for, but alright. They weren’t asked for an encore, the crowd wasn’t cheering as much and one of the headlights died in the middle of one of their songs, which resulted in the guy in charge for the lights to curse loudly, interrupting their performance multiple times.

But it could have gone even worse.

What couldn’t have gone worse was the encounter with this _guy_ , that was now putting his sweaty arm around Newts shoulder, taking a billion blurry selfies and not giving a _single fuck_ about personal space. Or asking for consent for that matter.

He had hugged both Minho and Newt without asking them if they were okay with it, ruffled Newt’s hair, touched some of Minho’s neck tattoos and was an overall douchebag. _A very drunk douchebag._

The singer felt a couple of eyes glued onto him, two pairs of them being his friends. They tried to tell this guy to ‘ _Fuck off’ (_ Minho) or to _‘Be a little more considerate’_ (Alby) multiple times, but he just acted as if he was deaf in both ears.

Newt shot his bandmates an annoyed look, as the drunk put his phone down for a second, leaning against one of the red leather barstools. He was focused on his phone that he accidentally locked and now struggled to type in his password. That was Newt’s chance.

The blond mumbled a brief _Bye!_ and stepped away from him as quickly as possible, almost stumbling over the leg of a chair. Without thinking twice about it, Newt pushed himself through his friends, getting as much distance between him and this guy as possible. He just wanted to leave this nasty place, get into the van and then fall asleep on some cheap hotel bed that probably squeaked with every movement.

Instead he crushed into someone else.

Before his eyes could meet the not so unfamiliar stranger’s, his nose recognized the pleasant smell.

His dream. The garden. Rosemary. Lemon. _Tommy._

“Oof, sorry!”, Thomas apologized quickly, looking into Newt’s eyes with a rather frightened look.

He had almost forgotten what his voice sounded like. Or how warm the colour of his eyes was. Or how the mess of his hair stuck out into every direction possible.

As Newt’s eyes traced the brunet’s face without him even thinking about it, a wave of calmness washed over him, drowning out every sense of annoyance and anger he felt just a split second ago. He couldn’t even remember why he felt that way in the first place.

This boy hadn’t left his thoughts since the second he first showed up a couple of days ago. At first Newt thought the colour of Tommy’s eyes only crossed his mind because of how awkward their first encounter was. He thought that he only tried to remember how Tommy pronounced his name, because he was still angry at him for wasting his time. He thought that the way Tommy’s lips moved when he spoke only occupied his brain because it bugged him that he was so talkative and didn’t know when to stop. He thought about Tommy for no reason at all. _He thought._

“Hey, are you okay?”, Thomas rather concerned voice interrupted Newt’s spiralling thoughts. The blond had to blink a couple of times to actually focus his vision on the brunet’s eyes. He didn’t even notice his gaze trailing off to Thomas’ lips and also just now realised that he probably looked like a fool.

“Yeah, I- uh...”, Newt stuttered, taking his hands of Thomas’ shoulders, that he previously placed there when the two of them crashed together. The singer pushed some strands of hair out of his face, stepping back a little.

Newt didn’t really know why he was at a loss for words right now, why he suddenly felt his heart beat in his chest, why his mouth felt as dry as a desert or why his palms were sweating so much. He _hated_ feeling like this and the fact that some subconscious part of his brain made him feel that way just because of _this guy he barely knew_ made him hate it even more.

It was almost as if they took turns from the last time they met. Newt was usually rather composed and quick to a comeback, but something about this situation and Thomas reassuring smile made him the stuttering mess that he never wanted to be.

Newt felt the grip of a hand on his shoulder that made him jolt a bit. To his surprise, his slightly bewildered look was met with a confused facial expression by Alby. The bassist raised one eyebrow as this gaze wandered between Thomas and Newt quickly.

“Everything okay with you two? Make it quick please, the manager of this fucking dump is starting to make a scene.”, Alby murmured quietly, unsuccessfully trying to hide his annoyance.

“Making a scene? What do you mean?”, the singer asked, keeping his voice down and his eyes on his friend. Newt craned his neck a little to look for Minho and noticed him standing further away from them, loudly arguing with the man that owned this place.

Newt felt Thomas watching Alby and him. He probably also tried to figure out what was going on but had the decency to stay quiet and not get involved in their business. The blond shot him a quick look and noticed that Thomas was in fact currently tip-toing to get a better view of what was happening behind them

“Wants us to pack our equipment right now, because there’s another performer booked for tonight or something.”

“Excuse me, we didn’t fucking know about that?!”

“Apparently, we _did._ At least Minho did or whatever, I don’t know-“, Alby tried to explain without trying to hide how pissed off he was anymore, but got interrupted before he could finish his sentence.

“Pack up your fucking crap right now or I’m gonna keep your prepayment and book someone that’s actually good for Saturday night!”, the manager basically screamed into their direction while angrily pointing at the stage.

Not even a second passed before Minho grabbed the collar of the managers shirt and pulled him closer in a gruffly motion.

“Oh fuck.”, both Newt and Alby blurted out and started moving towards them quickly.

Ignoring Thomas shocked gasp, Newt now basically sprinted over to his friend and the sordid looking man. Alby reached them before him, grabbing Minho by his shoulders and pulling him back.

Alby hissed something into Minho’s ear, Newt couldn’t understand over the ongoing hue and cry from the manager. As he shoved himself between him and his friend, a drizzle of the man’s spit sprayed his face, making him flinch.

The blond that was now directly in front of the still effing and blinding man, put his hands onto his opponents chest and pushed him away in a fitful motion, making him stumble into a table.

“What the fuck is the bloody problem right now?”, Newt burst out, swinging around to look at Minho who wasn’t trapped in Alby’s grip anymore.

The singer tried to ignore the manager swearing under his breath behind him, but couldn’t help to turn his head around to check if this guy was okay. He smelled pretty drunk after all and Newt had to admit that he pushed him a little too hard for comfort.

Two half-empty bottles of beer got knocked over, spilling the bitter liquids all over the table and now dripping onto the already suspiciously stained carpet. A few more stains didn’t make the slightest bit of a difference on the filthy flooring and Newt officially decided that this bar should be closed because of heavy violations against numerous hygiene standards.

The guy seemed fine, since he was already swearing, pointing, and spraying his cold spit everywhere again.

 _Lovely, exactly how I wanted my evening to go,_ Newt thought while returning his gaze to his best friends again, blocking the manager’s way with his body. He didn’t want him to get close to Minho again, but more importantly: He didn’t want Minho to get closer to _him_ again. He knew Minho wasn’t a big fan of authority figures, rules and being put into place. Newt also knew very well that Minho wasn’t afraid to get into fights, no matter with who. Not even a police badge could stop him.

The last thing Newt needed after a shitty concert, annoying encounters and a drunk guy spitting in his face was a bar fight and probably treating Minho’s broken nose just a couple of minutes later.

Newt crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving his best friend a scolding look.

“This bit- asshole told me that we need to leave in like, I don’t fucking know, 10 minutes or so? With all our shit packed up because he booked another band for tonight.”, the drummer growled as he gestured towards the greasy looking man that now craned his neck to look over Newt’s shoulder. The blond noticed his movement and immediately stepped a little further to the side to block the man’s view.

“You knew that, for fucks sake! I told you!”, the man behind Newt croaked out, accentuation the situation with his throaty smoker’s cough that sounded like an old motor with broken parts inside of it just pegged out.

“I didn’t know that, you never told me, dude!”, Minho complained already stepping closer to Newt.

“You tell me I’m fucking lying, boy?!”

“Yeah, I am you ass-“

“Okay, calm down everyone.”, Alby interrupted the verbal duel in a serious tone. “We’ve got ten more minutes, right? Let’s just leave.”, he continued, trying to sound as soothing as possible but only earning an irritated look from Minho.

Before the drummer could complain again, Newt grabbed him by the arm and pulled him with him.

He’s had enough. Enough of this bar, this fight, the feeling of his lungs being filled up with hot tar that could start to dry any second.

Newt only let go off Minho’s arm once they arrived on the stage. He stepped closer to his friend, pressing his index finger into his chest.

“Listen up, Minho. Stop complaining right now and start dismantling the drums. We’re gonna talk about all this in the car.”, the blond hissed, not trying to hide how done he was with everything. Minho only shot him an annoyed look, raising one of his eyebrows.

“Stop acting like my fucking mom, Blondie.”, the drummer replied, clearly pissed off.

“I’ll stop acting like your mom once you stop acting like a fucking toddler!”, Newt striked back, now fully letting go off Minho.

He didn’t want to scream. He didn’t mean to let his anger and annoyance out on his best friend, but he did. Newt already felt bad about it and made a mental note to apologize to Minho later. But now was not the time. They barely had 10 more minutes left to pack up the drum set, their guitars, all of their stuff in the dressing room before this _complete idiot_ of a manager made an even bigger scene.

“Alby, please get the van as close as possible.”, the blond usually wasn’t the one to give out orders, none of them were, but seeing Alby nod and hop off the stage to leave the bar made Newt realise that all of them understood that special situations required special measures.

The singer turned away from Minho that was still in the same pouty mood but finally started moving towards the drums, starting to disassemble the pieces.

Newt’s eyes met Thomas’. The brunet was standing right in front of him, just a gap of about two meters separating their bodies. In the heat of the moment he didn’t even notice him following them up here.

The wave of calmness didn’t hit Newt as hard as before. It rather felt like the storm of stress and anxiety inside of him upset the boat of tranquillity, making it sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Did Newt had to tell him to leave? Didn’t Thomas get the memo? Did he even want him to leave?

“Hey, Tommy, I’m sorry but-“, Newt started, trying really hard to sound as composed as possible.

“No, I’ll help.”

“What?”

“You guys need help, I can help. Just tell me what to do, please.”, Thomas said, supporting his sentence with a reassuring smile and an enthusiastic nod.

Newt wasn’t sure if he actually heard that or if he was just imagining it, his mind playing tricks on him. But he saw Thomas lips move, so he must have really said those things out loud.

“Are you for real?” Newt’s bafflement must have been written all over his face, since Thomas only answered his question with a short laugh.

A laugh that immediately made Newt smile in return. That made all of his negative feelings get caught up in a swirl, swallowing them and leaving him with a smooth sea afterwards. He wanted to hear it again.

“Yeah, I’m for real, Newt. Just show me what to do, we don’t have much time left.”, the brunet urged, already stepping closer to Newt.

“Okay, uhm- just- ... take this.”, Newt stuttered, looking around and grabbing whatever was closest to him. He didn’t want to look like a fool but failed with 100% accuracy as he handed Thomas his guitar. The brunet took it with an excited smile on his face inspecting the instrument with wide eyes and turning it around ins his hands.

“Just take it to the dressing room and pack it up, you know where that is, right?”

“Uhm... no.”

“Oh...yeah.”, Newt cringed at that. How could Thomas know where their bloody dressing room was, he probably has never been here before. The blond also made the mental note to never talk ever again.

“Just off the stage and then left... or right, I can’t fucking remember. It’s the only room with the windows open.”, Minho intervened the painfully awkward conversation, while fiddling with some lose pieces of the drum set. The muscular boy got up and made his way towards them, grabbing Alby’s guitar from its stand and handing it to Thomas as well.

“Take that one with you, while you’re at it.”, the drummer continued, already turning away from them again and going back to what he was doing.

Newt followed him with his eyes. Apparently, Minho didn’t care a single bit about the potential of a random stranger going through their stuff. And what was even worst: Apparently, he heard ever word of their conversation.

“Okay, sure thing!”, Thomas exclaimed, shooting Minho and then Newt a content smile.

As he walked off the stage, almost tripping over some cables on the floor, Newt couldn’t do anything but look after him with a slightly amused look.

Just 9 minutes later, almost all of their bulky baggage was loaded into the van. Alby and Minho were currently picking up the last few boxes from inside, while Newt and Thomas waited for them outside, sitting on the trunk opening of the van with their legs hanging over the edge.

Newt didn’t really know why Thomas was still here. He was a great help and the singer was sure that it would have taken them so much longer if they didn’t have his fourth pair of hands. But still, he had told him that they didn’t want to waste his time any longer twice, thanked him 3 times and apologized for the stress 4 times.

But Thomas was still here, sitting next to Newt, nattering about the concert and the city, the crowd, the manager and the weird drunk man he noticed around Newt while they were talking to their fans after the performance.

Newt didn’t even know if Thomas was still breathing, because the words just spilled out of his mouth like a waterfall. There was no way he still had time to take a breath.

The blond also noticed Thomas bouncing his leg and him fiddling on his jacket once again. He was clearly nervous and apparently, he liked to talk _a lot_ when he was nervous. Every sentence filled with several _‘Uhm_ ’s and _‘Like, you know_ ’s.

“I can’t believe how you managed to stay so calm with that drunk guy around.”, the brunet exclaimed with an impressed look on his face.

“I basically ran away from him, I wouldn’t consider that _staying calm_.”, Newt responded jokingly and looked at Thomas. It felt like his brown eyes were looking right through him, right into his head, reading his mind.

Newt couldn’t contain the eye contact any longer and looked at his feet.

“Did the same with you the other night, just left you standing there. Sorry about that, Tommy- uh, _Thomas.”_ , he continued talking, mentally cursing at himself for accidentally using the nickname for Thomas he only ever used when thinking about him. Which sounded super creepy, now that he thought about it.

Thomas let out an amused huff and shrugged before replying.

“Don’t worry about it. I get that you’re busy and all, it’s really no big deal.”, the brunet looked at Newt once more, smiling softly while cocking his head to the side.

“What’s with the _Tommy_ , by the way?”

“Huh?”

“Tommy. You called me that twice already.”, his voice showed absolutely no trace of huffiness, just curiosity. He didn’t take his eyes off Newt, that now looked back at him with an apologetic smile.

He had absolutely no idea how to explain that nickname to Thomas. In no way in the world could he make a sense of why he preferred calling him that name instead of his real one.

“I don’t know, I just- you just don’t look like a Thomas to me.”, Newt began to talk in a low and a little insecure tone. Without him even noticing it, the singer’s fingers started fiddling with the black bandana tied around his wrist. His eyes were glued onto the fabric and maybe if Newt didn’t look at Thomas for long enough, he would just vanish and this uneasy conversation would come to an end.

Unfortunately for both of them, Thomas didn’t vanish.

“What does a Thomas look like to you then?”, the brunet asked amused, letting his gaze wander down Newt’s upper body, locking his eyes on the accessory the singer was wearing.

Newt could only shrug with a murmured ‘ _I don’t know’_ , but finally found the strength to look back at Thomas, who returned his gaze quickly.

“They look more serious. More like... I don’t really know, but if you want me to stop using it, just tell me! I don’t want you-“

“No, no, it’s fine! Really, it’s okay.”, the brunet interrupted Newt and gifted him a reassuring smile. “I just usually don’t get called nicknames, so uhm...yeah.”

Thomas let out a rather uncomfortable laugh, running his hands trough his hair and turning his head away from Newt.

If Newt would believe in any kind of god, he would have prayed for all of this to stop. He just wished he could rewind this entire conversation, their first and also second meeting, since this – whatever this was – qualified as an absolute disaster. A car crash that you just couldn’t look away from.

“Move out the way.”, their lord and saviour himself – Minho – appeared in Newt’s vision, carrying a heavy looking box. Alby was just behind him with another smaller cardboard box in his hands that was filled with a bunch of tangled cables.

Newt and Thomas jumped off the car in a heartbeat, making room for the two band mates to store away the last few luggage items.

The singer just hoped that none of them noticed how relieved he was for this conversation to get interrupted. Now that they were all packed up, they could just leave, drive to their hotel in peace and most importantly: leave Tommy and this painfully awkward encounter behind.

“Is that all?”, Newt asked in no particular direction, craning his neck to look into the trunk to check for nothing specific.

“Yup. Thanks again, dude. Would have taken ages without you.”, Alby replied shooting Thomas a thankful smile and patting him on the shoulder.

The brunet just brushed it off with a shrug and a silent huff.

“No, for real. We’re heading to the Hillside Hotel, can we at least give you a ride or something? Drop you off somewhere?”, the bassist insisted.

Newt was ready to turn religious for his prayers to be heard. _Please say no,_ he begged internally, already walking to the back-seat door of the van where his backpack was stored. He knew that if god was real, Tommy would just say goodnight and go, eventually showing up at their next concert, starting another bugging conversation but at least ending this one.

But as Newt sat down on the squeaky leather seats, hearing Thomas’ reply, he knew that god wasn’t real.

“That’s funny, I’m staying in the same hotel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hoped you liked this one! please tell me what u think about it and have a lovely day! <3


	3. dipped in honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now that the sun was gone, leaving him alone with the thoughts of what had happened just a few hours ago, he could feel that something – or someone – was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small content warning: there'll be mentions of blood and needles in the middle of this chapter

He couldn’t believe this was actually happening to him.

It felt like a joke, like something those weird prank shows would set up. They would record it, zoom into your face to get a better view of your reaction, make fun of you and then tell you where they hid all the cameras.

Newt was still searching for any sign of a red blinking dot in any of the corners of the car, the hotel lobby, the hallway and his room.

He couldn’t spot any.

Newt sat on the edge of his – as expected – very squeaky bed, only wearing his boxers. His hair was still a little wet and cold droplets of water were occasionally dripping onto his thighs, making him shiver each time. After an evening like this, he decided that it was okay to be too lazy to get up again to walk to the bathroom and get the towel. It was okay to just sit in your almost completely dark room in absolute silence, rethinking every move you made a couple of hours ago and regretting most of the words you said.

The car ride was a mess. Not only was it filled with occasional swearing by Alby but also with lots of awkward silence. _Very awkward silence._ Since you could still physically feel the tension in the air giving you goosebumps, no one dared to actually say anything about what happened in the bar. Anyone but Alby, since he had to complain multiple times about the drivers in Nashville getting their driver’s license from a Happy Meal.

They got cut off once, which resulted in Alby having to take a turn that sharp, all their seatbelts tightened. All seatbelts, except Thomas’.

Since the van was just big enough for all their equipment and the three of them, they had to remove one of the back seats at some point. Of course they knew that driving while one of their passengers was sitting on the ground without any type of safety belt was A) very much not legal and B) absolutely not safe, but since Thomas agreed to it and they never got into an accident or police control, they decided that it was fine for now.

But as Alby was forced to take that sharp turn, it wasn’t fine.

The brunet sat on the metal ground to Newt’s right, his legs crossed. He craned his neck to look out the window, but probably only saw the rooftops of the buildings they were driving by. Newt, who’s field of vision wasn’t blocked by a scratched car door, saw the motorcycle before Alby did and reflexively grabbed onto the collar of Thomas’ jacket, saving him from getting flung through the air.

After that, Newt noticed that the boy on the ground had shuffled closer to him, almost leaning onto his shin with his back.

They arrived at their hotel 10 minutes later, even though the way there should have only taken them less than half of the time. Traffic lights and incapable drivers were constantly slowing them down and Newt was sure they would have been faster if they had just walked.

After rushing out of the car, just grabbing onto his backpack and guitar, Newt quickly excused himself, telling Thomas Goodnight and _Thank you again_ before making a dash for the creepy looking staircase. The blond wouldn’t have been surprised if the lights would have suddenly started to flicker and a bony hand would reach through the gaps between the stairs to grab him by the ankle and pull him into the darkness. Needless to say that didn’t happen.

What did happen, was Thomas looking after him, calling out a “Night, Newt!” as the singer left him standing there with his friends. It felt weird that he sensed a stutter in his breathing. It felt weird that he couldn’t stop a smile from curling up his lips. And what felt even weirder was that he had to supress the sudden urge to turn back around and tell Thomas to “Sleep well!”.

Newt knew that some subconscious part of his brain made him like that boy, he didn’t know why, he didn’t know what exactly he did to make him feel that way when he said his name or smiled at him, but he did know that he didn’t like those feelings he developed for a literal stranger. They only met twice after all and only talked for not even a full 20 minutes. Newt couldn’t make a sense of his feelings and thoughts about Thomas, so: He ran away from them. Quite literally.

The singer took the notebook, that he previously pulled out of the mess he called his belongings from his backpack, and laid it down on his thighs. He shuffled through the pages, opening it where he stopped last time.

And there he was again.

_Tommy._

Written at the bottom of the last two pages. A question mark after the last entry.

Whenever Newt had a thought that wouldn’t leave his mind or that he currently didn’t want to think about: he wrote it down. With that, said thought was banished from his head for at least a short amount of time, waiting for him to deal with it later.

Song ideas, random lyric parts, chords, feelings: all those things filled up his notebook, an expansion of his mind as he liked to think of it. He even used it as a diary on some days, writing down entire conversations he had if he couldn’t stop recalling them in his head, reading into ever line he or the other person said, searching for flaws on his part or subliminal criticisms.

Tommy was in there twice, right along to the conversation they had the first night they met. Newt thought it might help to get the _name_ out of his system, because it always did. It has always helped, but in this case, it only made him think about him more. About his smile, his eyes, his entire presence and how he made every conversation into an awkward one within the matter of seconds. About how he actually quite enjoyed sitting next to Thomas in silence, just listening to what he was babbling about.

Just as Newt decided that he spent enough time thinking about the brunet once again, a loud knock on the door made him sit up straight.

His head shot to the wooden door, while he quickly got up. It felt like he got caught red-handed, as if thinking about a guy that you basically knew nothing about but still was on your mind constantly was a crime.

Newt quickly turned around again, leaning down to pick up his phone from the bed.

He knew it was probably one of his friends in front of the door, but he still wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t open the door to a complete stranger that got the room numbers mixed up.

As he typed his message in the group chat, something deep inside of him _hoped_ for a certain not so strange stranger to wait on the other side of the room.

“Is that you guys?”

Newt stood in his room in silence, glancing at the door. A few seconds of tranquillity passed, before a familiar voice spoke up in the hallway.

“No, it’s a serial killer that knocks before breaking in, idiot. ”

Minho’s snickering reached Newts ears as he rolled his eyes. The blond let out an intentionally loud annoyed groan for his friend to hear. He picked up his shirt from the night stand, put it on and made his way to the door.

Newt couldn’t deny that he felt a little bit disappointed at the thought of seeing Minho’s face on the other side of the door and not someone else’s. The blond internally rolled his eyes at himself now for thinking about Thomas again, even though he wanted him gone completely barely an hour ago.

He wanted to open up his skull and look inside of his brain because of how confused he was by his own thoughts. The second Thomas appeared he felt overwhelmed but calm at the same time. As soon as he started talking to him, he realised that he actually wanted him to leave. And now that he was alone with his thoughts, knowing that the brunet could be just the length of a corridor away from him, he wanted him to be close. Newt’s opinions on Thomas changed with the second and he hated his brain for not making up its mind.

As his eyes met Minho’s, he realised that he hadn’t even noticed how he had opened the door. Newt forced himself to focus his vision and put on a slight frown.

“What’s up?”, the blond asked in a hushed voice to not draw any attention to them, while he let his gaze wander through the tight hallway.

The doors weren’t even 2 meters apart from each other and only 3 out of 5 ceiling lamps worked. Dried up stains of various drinks decorated the once dark red carpet, that was now faded into a muted pink and thin cracks in the beige wallpaper gave you all the seductive, zero-star rating charm that you needed.

“Got us pizza and I found a way up to the rooftop.”, Minho announced with a wide smile on his face. He looked like an excited child on his birthday morning as he nodded towards the staircase to their left.

Newt followed the movement with his eyes while leaning more into the corridor, the doorhandle still in his hand. He shot Minho a confused look.

“What do you mean _the rooftop?”_

“The thing on top of a building that protects it from raining inside. You know what a fucking rooftop is, stupid.”

Minho rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle as he noticed Newts annoyed look.

“There’s like a place to chill. It’s flat and you can see the entire city from there. It’s cool trust me.”, the drummer said with another one of his convincing smiles.

“And we’re allowed to go up there?”

“The door wasn’t locked.”

“For fucks sake, Minho!”, Newt groaned and felt the need to slam the door shut.

Of course Minho had nothing else to do than to explore the locked off hallways and rooms of each and every hotel they stayed in. _No entry!_ and _Staff only!_ sings were more of vague suggestions to him, than actual prohibitions which resulted into him almost getting kicked out of a few places before. But that didn’t stop the rebellious soul and so won’t a closed door.

Newt looked at Minho for another second, debating if he should follow him up the mysterious and forbidden rooftop and eat way too greasy but still delicious pizza with his best friends while enjoying the sunset and the view over stunning city lights or if he should stay in his room with the flickering lights that smelled a little too much like mold, just sitting on his uncomfortable bed until he eventually fell asleep while the box springs dug their way into his ribs.

The blond took a deep breath and shook his head, opening the door a little to let Minho in before turning around and walking into the small room.

“Okay, let me put on some pants.”

It felt like the entire world got dipped in honey. Every building, every tree, every car that drove down the street beneath them looked like it got a thin coat of the golden nectar covering them.

The sun would be gone completely in just a couple minutes, so Newt leaned over the edge just a few inches more, to see the entire picture. It looked like a painting. A rough one, with a few mistakes like broken windows in some of the abandoned houses, newspaper that someone left stranding after deciding the news weren’t up to their liking, a couple fighting over everything and nothing at the same time.

Newt tried to memorize how the light reflected off the windows of the office building next to their hotel, how the trees almost looked completely orange as if it was fall because of the setting sun. He just let his gaze wander for a few more seconds, before a familiar voice cut through the string of thoughts.

“Is weed legal in Tennessee?”, Minho asked in a monotone voice while looking up to the sky. He laid on the concrete rooftop floor, two empty pizza boxes right next to him.

Newt had turned around to him already, now leaning against the metal railing with his lower body. The blond ignored the suspicious creaking and the slight wobble of the fencing. At least one of the screws that held it all together was loose, he was sure about that.

“I don’t know, google it.”, Newt answered dryly while crossing his arms in front of his chest. He watched Minho pull his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans before turning back around. Only to be hit by disappointment.

The sun made her way beyond the horizon and with that she took both the light and the warm, melancholic feeling inside of Newts chest. Just a second ago he could have sworn he felt the warm soil of his families garden under his feet, could smell the herbs his mother grew in their vegetable field, could hear Bark’s big paws dig into grass as he walked. But now that the sun was gone, leaving him alone with the thoughts of what had happened just a few hours ago, he could feel that something – or _someone –_ was missing.

The city now looked as grey as any other city they’ve ever been to. No honey hiding the ugly cracks in the brick walls of the buildings surrounding them.

Newt didn’t want to look at the bitter let-down any longer and walked over to his friends, sitting down next to Alby.

“Well, fuck you then. Up to one year of prison my ass.”, Minho croaked out, as he put his phone down and sat up. The drummer crossed his legs underneath him and shot both his friends an annoyed look.

Newt raised an eyebrow, letting out a breathless laugh. The blonde spoke up in a rather amused voice, only if you listened closely you could hear the frustration that swung with it.

“Almost got the cops called on us when you punched that guy, as if prison would scare you at this point.”

“I didn’t punch that fucker!”

“You almost did.”

“Yeah _almost_ doing something is far off _actually_ doing something.”, Minho responded half laughing half grinning, ignoring Newt’s annoyed sigh.

“Min, please.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Alby’s hearty laugh interrupted the banter between the two boys. Both of their heads turned to him, as he rolled his eyes and lifted up his hand to give Minho a well-deserved smack on the back of his head.

The drummer quickly dodged the attack and couldn’t stop himself from giggling as well.

“You two behave like fucking toddlers, you know that right?”, the older boy commented in an amused tone, shaking his head. He leaned back to look up in the sky.

Bright white dots were already sprinkled all over the still rather light purple night-sky like powdered sugar on the chocolate cake with lemon curd filling Minho and Newt baked for their best friends fourteenth birthday.

Even after multiple rescue missions, thick and thicker coats of the sugary death also known as the sweetest icing the taste buds of the youngsters have ever experienced and help from Newts father – and architectural genius – the cake was basically falling apart. The bone-dry layers of the overcooked cake were slipping off of each other, making the entire desert tilt to its left, competing with the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

It wasn’t that Alby didn’t appreciate the effort his friends put into the sweet act of trying to bake something for him or that he hated the taste of the rock-hard cake that could have uses a little more baking power. But sadly on said lovely spring day, the group of kids learned two crucial things.

The first thing being: Newt and Minho couldn’t bake an eatable cake even if their life depended on it and should stay 5 feet away from an oven at any given time.

And second: Alby was highly allergic to lemons. 

The three of them plus Alby’s very concerned parents spent the rest of his birthday in the ER of the closest hospital, trying to cheer up the crying boy by promising him to stop by McDonald’s on the way home.

“Did Stevens really not tell you about the other band?”, Alby’s deep voice interrupted the silence that hung in the clear evening air. His eyes were still glued to the stars and the same slightly frowning expression as usual adorned his face.

Newt had told him times and times again that those wrinkles would be carved into his skin sooner or later, making him look much older than he actually was. And every time the blond reached out to smoothen out the creases on Alby’s forehead with his thumb, while the older boy was concentrating on coming up with an interesting line for a new song, he noticed that the constant sceptic expression had already burned its way into the bassist’s face.

Alby must have felt Minho’s confused gaze on him, so he let his look trail down to face the drummer. As he raised an eyebrow and shot his friend a reproving look, Newt decided to let the two troublemakers do the talking and just lean back and enjoy the show. While being very uncomfortable, because like any normal person: Newt hated fighting, arguing and everything that made anyone raise their voice in the slightest bit.

“I don’t remember, could have told me. Doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?”

“It _does_ matter, _Minho._ He almost kicked us out, _almost_ cancelled the damn gig on Saturday and-“

“Yeah okay, whatever, dude.”, Minho rolled his eyes and made sure everyone in the radius of 3 miles could tell how done he was with the current situation, just by how much sarcasm swung with his annoyed voice. With another shrug the black-haired boy got up and turned away from his friends.

Before Newt and Alby could finish the silent conversation they had while exchanging knowing looks the other one could read no problem, the drummer spoke up again, as he bent down to pick up the empty pizza boxes.

“This ass probably told me and I forgot telling you, I’m sorry. You guys want a typed-out apology?”

“No, Min. Come on, don’t be a fucking baby about it. “, Newt interrupted his friend that folded said cardboard containers under his strong arms, but was shushed by his rough voice.

“You two are making a scene about it as if you’re my fucking parents, jeez. Forgot a little something, whatever, won’t happen again, Alby give me the keys.”, Minho killed the conversation and stretched out his arm in front of Alby to get said keys from his roommate.

“Tomorrow at 11 then?”, the blond spoke up, turning his head to look after his friend who was already close to the heavy metal door that separated him from the sketchy staircase that led up to the concrete lookout.

Newt could barely notice a nod coming from Minho. The singer chuckled and shook his head, not being able to quite understand his friend’s childish behaviour.

“Don’t oversleep, Idiot.”, he exclaimed not trying to hide the fact that he enjoyed annoying his friend right now.

Minho’s middle finger was the last thing Newt saw of him for the rest of the evening.

Maybe it was the thought of not being able to see his family for the next couple of months that kept him awake all night. Or the fact that he still hadn’t apologized to Minho for yelling at him at the bar. Or the uncomfortable bed, the thin walls that allowed him to hear way too much about other people’s private life, the horrible party music from the night club right across the street from their hotel or Thomas that crossed his mind countless times, even though Newt filled up two pages of his notebook with all the little details he could remember about the brunet.

Whenever he closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to wash over him and finally let him drift away in some senseless dream he would have already forgotten when he woke up, the bambi eyes and the warm smile occupied his mind. His brain even came up with a couple of song lyrics every other minute and after the third time of getting up from bed and walking over to the barely functioning desk to write them down, he just brought his notebook with him, putting it down next to his pillow.

It were cheesy rhymes, bad metaphors and generally nothing that would sound good in a grunge song. Or any song for that matter.

Lyrics about having a name stuck in your head, making all your thoughts run slow as if the gear wheels of your brain got gummed up with honey, about watching the sunset with someone you want to be with and eating strawberries dipped in honey, about honey brown eyes and a stupid smile that made you speechless. About some _fucking_ stranger that absolutely turned your head in the matter of minutes, even though your first and second impression of him were all very awkward encounters.

About Thomas.

All of them, every single line, every rhyme about Thomas.

Thomas was in every single one of the lines. And Newt _hated_ it.

After waking up with only 3 hours of sleep fuelling his system, Newt read everything he had written down in his emotional state again. It didn’t take him more than a heartbeat to declare them to be absolute garbage, ripping out the pages and throwing them into the metal bin in the bathroom.

Newt wasn’t the one to write love songs. And he surely wouldn’t start now, just because his lonely brain decided to like someone based on two conversations.

Maybe he just needed a hug. Or sex.

“You sure you don’t want a new one yourself?”, Minho croaked out, his face distorted in pain.

Newt looked up from the sketchbook pages he was looking through and noticed his best friends clenched up fists. The blond raised an eyebrow and couldn’t stop a sardonic grin from curling up his lips

“Nah, think I’m good for now.”

“Not even just to suffer with me? You know, misery loves company.”

“Just you wait ‘til we get to your Adam’s Apple. Then you know what suffering really means, you fat crybaby.”, the man leaning over Minho’s body exclaimed with a snickering tone. He let out a bitter laugh as he let the buzzing needles rip up the man’s skin again.

The air in the tight room was heavy with the metallic smell of blood and disinfectant and Newt turned his head to the drawings in the sketchbook, as Minho squeezed his eyes shut once again.

Geometric forms, thick black lines in various modern patterns and a few very stylized sketches of animal heads filled up every page. Newt really liked each and every drawing and had to admit how impressed he was by the tattoo artist’s talent, but quickly decided that he really wasn’t in the mood to pay someone a stack of money to hurt him over the span of hours.

The black leather armchair the blond sat in squeaked as he shuffled to the side a little to grab the other magazine off the round glass coffee table. Newt didn’t really pay attention to what he was looking at, but after skimming over some of the articles in said zine, he realized that he wasn’t interested in getting a needle punched though his ear, nose or lips as well. Not right now.

“’kay, quick 2-minute break, gotta drink something.”, Gally – the artist that had been hurting Minho for the past hour - said as he laid down the tattoo machine on the metal trolley right next to him. He stretched out his arms over his head while letting out a weary groan.

His entire arms were covered in lines, patters and parts that were completely filled in with pitch black ink. The art crawled its way up to his shoulders and his neck, not stopping at his head or temples. Newt spotted various tattoos on the back of his head, the artist’s buzzcut making it easier for the blond to see all of the hours of hard work and the pain that went into the artwork.

“Ears are 10, lips or nose 25.”, the tall boy said in a throaty voice while reaching down to grab his bottle of water from the ground. His grey eyes met Newt’s as he nodded towards the magazine in the blond’s hands.

Newt raised both his eyebrows in confusion before he quickly shook his head, putting the booklet down.

“Oh no, not right now. Thanks.”, the blond let out with a friendly smile, leaning back in the armchair and letting his look trail off to his tortured friend that currently hid his face in the crook of his arm. His breathing sounded heavy and shaky at the same time and even though he would never admit it: He seemed pretty grateful for the two minutes of peace from getting stabbed by the tiny needles.

“A Prince Albert would look cute on you.”, Minho muttered, a small grin still glued to his face.

Gally put down his bottle and playfully slapped the boy laying on the patted cot on the thigh.

“Can’t be in too much pain if he’s still joking around.”, the artist snickered as he twisted his wrists around a few times to loosen up. Gally let out a breathless laugh and completely turned back to Minho while taking the tattoo machine and flipping the switch to turn it on. He leaned over again, dipped the needles in the small pot of black ink before silently checking in if his client was doing alright.

Minho bit his lower lip and tried to suppress a painful groan the second the hammering spicules dug into is skin.

Just for the split of a moment Newt felt pitiful for his best friend. He knew the type of pain Minho felt right now and how painfully uncomfortable the stage of healing was, when the scab that covered your tattoo for the first weeks started to itch like ants crawling around underneath your skin.

But Minho wanted all of this and paid Gally, so actually: There was nothing to be pitiful about.

“What’s a Prince Albert by the way?”, Newt asked to distract himself from his best friend’s suffering facial expression. He let his gaze wander up and down Gally’s body once again, trying to discover more interesting artworks.

Gally stopped working and turned his upper body around to face Newt.

“That’s a piercing on your...”, he raised his already incredibly arched eyebrows and threw a self-explanatory look to the blond’s crotch area. Newt followed his look with his eyes and blinked in confusion.

“My... _oh fuck_.”, the singer’s look shot up again and he closed his eyes in terror. His scrunched-up face must have made him look like a complete fool, since the tattooist managed to drown out the alternative metal music that was playing through cheap bluetooth speakers with his rough laugh.

Newt cleared his throat and only opened his eyes again after he heard the familiar buzzing noise of the modern torturing instrument.

“So, Minho.”, the blond spoke up again in a slightly uncomfortable manner.

“Not really in the mood to talk right now, dickhead.”, Minho snarled, his eyes still closed and eyebrows drawn together.

“Lovely. _Anyway_ , did you get a chance to look for a new place to stay yet?”, Newt continued, ignoring Minho’s try to cut off the conversation. He noticed that the drummer tried to avoid talking about said topic for the past few days and Newt started to worry about it.

It was always how they did it. Alby did the talking and planning, Minho the calling and texting, Newt the writing and singing. They all worked together as a team, a band or as Alby used to call them sometimes when he was high: A family.

“No, couldn’t really find anything that fit our budget yet.”, Minho muttered, probably hoping for no one in the room to actually hear him.

Newt stared at him in disbelieve, knowing very well that Minho could _feel_ his death glare.

“So you want to sleep in the van for two weeks, did I get that right?”

“No, fuck of course not, I’ll find something! Trust me, okay!? ”

“Will you shut up?”, Gally exclaimed not even trying to hide his utterly annoyed tone. He sat up a bit and looked at Minho’s face with a mixture of frustration and anger.

“In case you forgot, there are 9 needles stabbing your skin about 120 times per second with _permanent_ ink on them, but if you want your tattoo to look like your mom did it on her deathbed, keep talking, no problem.”, the tattoo artist scolded him, before rolling his eyes and starting to work again.

Newt couldn’t believe that that actually shut Minho up for good. Maybe it was the pain or the feeling of being responsible for his best friend’s back problems that sleeping in the van for two weeks would cause, but he shut up, glued his eyes to the ceiling and chewed on his lower lip, probably thinking about all the ways he wanted to murder Gally right now.

But before he could actually open his mouth to call the tattooist a lot of the worst insults he knew, the artist spoke up again, not looking up from Minho’s neck.

“Got two free rooms. One’s got a double bed, the other a single. You could crash there, my roommates are out of town.”, Gally said in a monotone voice. He continued working as if he never said anything at all, not noticing the looks Newt and Minho exchanged.

This guy would really let three basically complete strangers live in his apartment for two full weeks without even hesitating. They could be murderers, thieves that stole all his money, equipment and belongings or drug addicted wannabe rockstars that completely thrashed his place when he was asleep.

And Newt thought he was weird for writing cheesy song lyrics about a guy he just met.

“Thanks dude - no offence - but I don’t think that we can trust a random guy we just met _that_ much.”, the drummer spoke up again with a slightly weirded out undertone in his voice. Minho shot Gally a suspicious look without moving his head.

The artist lifted the tattoo gun up just enough for the needles to not touch Minho’s skin anymore and cocked his head to the side slightly, with a grin plastered to his face. He didn’t break the eye contact with his client as he spoke in a serious voice.

“I’m the one with nine needles pressed against your throat, I think I have the upper hand in the _Trust Department_ right now.”

The joy about having a rent-free place to stay only lasted until Alby asked the mischievous duo if they were out of their minds. He rambled about how they could possibly stay at a complete strangers place for two weeks straight without getting murdered, drugged or robbed but after Newt had told him that the only other quick solution would be to sleep in the van, he resigned.

Needless to say he was still mad at Minho for fucking up yet another important task and had no shame in showing him that. Alby knew Minho could handle it, but still told him to not talk to him until he actually felt like apologizing.

Which Minho didn’t right now, so he joined Newt at the sketchy hotel bar and ordered both of them the cheapest beer they sold. Also one of the most disgusting ones they had ever tasted, the two of them found out just a couple of minutes later.

But _You make do with what you have and if I wanna get drunk from this gnat’s piss I fucking will!_ Minho informed the blond after chugging down half the bottle in one go.

It was just when the black-haired boy rambled on about how much his entire body hurt and how stupid it was of Newt not to stop him from getting a tattoo this big a day before a show, that the blond noticed him.

He sat on a red couch in one of the quieter corners of the bar, looking at the screen of his phone while mindlessly scrolling. His hair was still the same chocolate brown colour, one of his shoelaces was still untied and his face still didn’t look like the name _Thomas_ suited him.

“Fuck. Hide me.”, Newt whispered in shock, ducking down a little and unsuccessfully hiding his face behind his half-empty beer bottle.

He didn’t want to talk to Thomas, he didn’t even want to see him. Newt knew by the way his heart almost exploded in his chest and his breathing got painfully fast that he would make a fool out of himself. A fool for saying the wrong things, a fool for thinking about Thomas’ eyes none stop, a fool for not being able to let go of the stranger.

Minho looked at his friend in confusion and let out sardonic giggle.

“You _always_ were the worst at Hide’n’Seek.”

“Shut up.”

“What are you doing, dude? You look stupid... you always do, but-“

“Shut up, don’t turn around. Thomas is here and I don’t want to talk to him.”, Newt spoke under his breath trying to sound as serious as possible. He had to get out of here as soon as possible without getting noticed, but as he peaked over Minho’s shoulder slightly, he noticed that he had already signed his own death warrant.

The only door that led to the hallway was next to the red couch the brunet was sitting on and unless Thomas had gotten blind or deaf, there was no way of Newt exciting this hell on earth.

“What Thoma- ah that Thomas!”, Minho had turned around _of course_ and now looked back at Newt, grinning widely.

“So, you _like_ him?”, Minho teased Newt, cocking his head to the side. Their eyes met and the blond could tell by the look in his best friends eyes that he was up to no good.

“No, I don’t. Let’s wait ‘til he’s gone, okay? Please?”

“You really don’t want to talk to him, did I get that right?”

“No, Minho, I will kill you if you-“

“Hi, Thomas!”

Newt was sure Minho’s voice echoed of the walls and through the entire hotel for every one of the guests to hear. He was sure that if he could make his own heart stop to fake his death right on the spot, he would. He knew that if it was legal to break your best friends arms to make him _stop gesturing to the person you so don’t want to talk to, to come over to your table_ he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Good luck with your date.”, Minho whispered the second he got up from his chair and leaned closer to Newt.

The blond tried to grab the collar of his shirt but the drummer was already out of reach and made his way to the barely lit hallway.

Newt barely had time to think about all the insults he wanted to call Minho, about how he would make the rest of his life hell on earth for leaving him alone with the person he wrote song texts about when he couldn’t sleep last night.

But for now, Tommy's honey brown eyes appeared in front of him and his soft smile actually made his heart stop.

“Hi.”

“... hi.”


End file.
